Back again! Though it is technically half past midnight where I am, I'm still going to count this as a victory for the daily update thing. I hope that you enjoy the chapter!

Chapter Nineteen: The Ringbearer

"Only one question remains. What are we going to do?"

For a long moment, Elrond's question left silence in its wake. For his own part, Bilbo had no clue what to do with the ring. Pummelling it into tiny-bitty smidgeons of gold-dust sounded good to him, but he had a feeling it would not be very effective. Or doable.

You cannot destroy that which you love the most, the sly voice murmured in his mind. You have not the strength, or the will.

I most certainly cannot, he argued back. Even if Kíli turned out to be twice as evil as you are, I could not destroy him. And he is what I love the most. So there.

Before the voice could answer, Galdor spoke. "What of the man who sheltered your company? This Tom Bombadil? He seemed to have some power, even over the ring. Could he not help?"

"I do not think so," said Gandalf, without any hesitation at all. "When we found him in the woods the thought did pass my mind. I would not say that he has power over the ring, only that it holds no power over him. But once I saw him, and spoke to him once more, I became surer than ever that he would not leave his lands for anything. Nor, I deem, would he take the ring to hide unless all the peoples of the earth begged him. Even if he did, he would likely soon forget it or throw it away. He would be a most unsafe guardian."

"And to send the ring to him now would be nigh on impossible," added Glorfindel, his ageless brow creased with thought. "The lands between Imladris and the Shire are now teeming with foes. Even if we succeeded, it would only postpone the day of evil. Could Bombadil alone withstand all the might of the enemy? I doubt it. If all else is conquered, I think that Bombadil too will fall. Last, perhaps, as he was first, but fall he will. And then true darkness will cover the world at last. The ring cannot be kept away from the enemy forever – there are none who have the strength. So we have two choices: To send it over the sea, or to destroy it."

Either sounded like a good option to Bilbo. Take it far, far away from him and his family, and to prevent the falling of inevitable and total darkness. Surely that was not too much to ask.

The voice in his head laughed coldly.

"Those over the sea would not take it," said Elrond firmly. "For good or evil it belongs to Middle-Earth. So there is only one path: the ring must be destroyed. It must be cast back into the fires of Mount Doom, from whence it came."

Wonderful, Bilbo thought to himself. I see no way that could go wrong. But he nodded, and offered his murmured assent with the others. If it was the only way, the only way to destroy the bane of his family, Bilbo would track the road himself.

"Why speak you only of hiding and destroying?" asked Boromir, leaning forward in his seat. Charisma rang strong in his voice, and Bilbo found it easy to see how men would follow the young lord of Gondor into battle. "Saruman is a traitor, but that does not make him a fool – there is wisdom yet in his words. The ring has come to us, to the free people, in our hour of great need. Let us use it, to grant strength and weapons to we who will not fall, that the Free Lords might vanquish the enemy forever by the doom of his own design. Let the ring be our weapon, if it has as much strength as you claim. Let us take it, and win victory at last!"

"No," said Gandalf harshly, and Boromir narrowed his eyes a jot. "It cannot be used by us – it belongs to Sauron, and was made by him alone, and is all together evil."

Elrond's voice was calmer and sadder than the wizard's. "It is known all too well that none can wield the ring at will, save those with great power already. Yet for them the danger is tenfold, for the desire of the ring corrupts the heart. If one of the Wise wore the ring – Saruman for instance – they would cast down the Dark Lord, but only to take his mantle and throne for their own. Even should Gandalf take it in good faith with pure intentions, he would be corrupted. I fear to take the ring to hide it, and I will not take it to wield."

"Nor will I," said Gandalf, folding his arms.

For a long moment, Boromir stared at them both, doubt in his eyes and a frown on his lips. But at last he bowed his head. "So be it. We must trust to such weapons as we have, and Gondor, at least, will fight on. With or without hope. For though I will not ask for aid, we need it. We bear the brunt of Mordor's wrath. The sword that was broken would bring great hope – if the one who wielded it had inherited more than a broken heirloom from his sires of old." Then his eyes rested on Aragorn.

"Who can say?" shrugged the other man. "But as I said, I shall help your people, if ever I can."

"Indeed, the men of Gondor fight valiantly," said Legolas, speaking for the first time. "But they are not the only folk under the shadow of war. Dol Guldur is occupied once more, with thousands of orcs, and with spiders larger even than those that plagued our lands two decades ago, when the Necromancer rose."

Bilbo, Fíli and Kíli all shuddered. For them, the memory of giant spiders and nauseating poison and suffocating webs was all too fresh.

Legolas continued. "Attacks come every week, from orcs and spiders alike, and though they may be small now, the smallest drip of water can wear away stone over time. We believe that the attacks on our kingdom are, primarily, a distraction to keep us from our allies. Thrice since Gandalf rode west have messengers of Mordor visited New Dale and Erebor. Neither king took lightly to the tidings, and though I know not what words passed between them, I know that Mordor has declared war upon Erebor. There are reports of armies moving towards the mountain from the south-east, and last I heard, Thorin Oakenshield had made no less than five attempts to send word to Lord Baggins. No messenger, has been heard from since."

Bilbo exchanged a glance with Dís, and he knew that she was thinking the same as he was. These tidings did not bode well for whatever messenger Thorin had sent.

"Already, New Dale and Erebor are preparing for war – King Bard will ever stand with the people of the mountain. But the Master of Lake-town is less well acquainted with dwarves, and more afraid. Her people are vulnerable, and she knows this. We fear that another messenger from Mordor may sway her allegiance. The Woodland Realm will stand with Erebor, but only if we are able to do so. If orcs lay us under siege, there will be little we can do. The lands of the North East are holding their breath."

Bilbo's heart squirmed – this was all bad enough without involving Erebor. He had been so sure that the strong walls would keep his family there safe from all but dragons, yet Legolas spoke of sieges and battles and open war, and he looked concerned. Bilbo was terrified. He glanced to his right. Kíli and Frodo both looked as if they were hearing a relative was deathly ill, their faces the picture of concern. Fíli, on the other hand, was grinding his teeth. Dís' face had taken on the appearance of stone. It was utterly unreadable – at least to most it would be. But Bilbo could see the fear in the crease between her brows, and fury in the purse of her lips. The momentary flutter of her lashes told Bilbo of her pain, and the way her bottom lip sucked slightly in betrayed her vulnerability.

She placed her hand slowly on the arm of her chair, and straightened her shoulders. "The dwarves of Erebor will not fall until the light is gone from all ends of the earth and the Dark Lord himself crashes down upon our doors. But we will not be able to protect New Dale and Esgaroth alone. We must return to Erebor – we may be needed."

There was a general nod and murmur of assent, that lulled into quiet once more. Finally, Boromir spoke.

"My heart is heavy to hear this – my memories of those lands are fair and joyful. Yet returning to the matter of destroying the ring," he said, and Bilbo looked at him. He was shifting, leaning forward in his seat, and worry folded over his forehead. "The path you propose is folly. One does not simply walk into Mordor – there is evil there that does not sleep. The great eye is always watching. How do you propose to enter that land, let alone pass through it, and find the fire?"

Gandalf cleared his throat, adjusting his grip on his staff. His fingers were still uncomfortably thin – they looked like they could be broken by a baby hobbit. "Folly it may seem, but it is also necessary. If the ring cannot be destroyed elsewhere – which it cannot – and we have no other option – which we do not – then we must journey to Mordor. Yet the hopelessness of this task may well shield us, for Sauron could not fathom another wishing to destroy the ring, instead of taking it for themselves. Therefore, he will not expect attack in such a way. There is no question in my mind that this is the path that must be taken. What must now be decided is who will do this."

Silence fell, thicker and heavier than ever. It poured down Bilbo's nose and throat, suffocating him, smothering him until he could not bear it anymore. There was one person who should do this – someone who had put their family in danger, and yet had a small chance to right his wrongs.

He drew in a deep breath. "I will take it."

Beside him, Kíli gave a choked gasp and twisted in his seat, grasping Bilbo's wrist and staring at him with horror-struck eyes. The look scorched Bilbo, and he looked up at Gandalf instead, swallowing hard.

"I will take the ring to Mordor," he said, feeling his heart beat very fast. "Though I do not know the way."

The wizard gazed down at him, with a look of equal pride and sorrow, akin to the look of a parent whose child was growing up too fast. No one had looked at Bilbo like that since his own parents passed, and receiving it was no more comfortable than looking at his devastated Kíli. Face flaming, he looked at Elrond instead.

The elf's sharp, grey eyes bored into Bilbo's, and he leant back in his seat. "You have displayed a remarkable resilience to its power. Yet for a halfling you are not young…"

Though there was no insult in Elrond's tone, Bilbo's chest puffed out and he raised his chin. "No, but I am not old, either. I have a good few decades in me yet, if the Valar permit, and I am scarce less fit than I was at fifty. Any hobbit of seventy would be able to traipse the earth at need. We do not look it, but we are hardy folk."

For only a moment, Elrond gave Bilbo a smile, but it vanished like morning mist banished by the rising sun. When he spoke, it sounded as though he was announcing a death sentence. "Very well. It seems that this task is appointed to you, Bilbo Baggins. Yet I will not lay it upon you – it is a heavy burden, and you must be willing to take it yourself."

"I am willing," said Bilbo though he felt very sick, and his heart twisted at Kíli's quiet moan. "I'm very fond of the good in this world, and the free people." Though he could not bring himself to look at his family, that was where his heart turned. "And I would save them, if I can."

Elrond did not speak, and stared at Bilbo for a long moment. The hobbit wished that someone, anyone, would break the silence. Then, Elrond stood, and placed a hand on his heart. Then, he bowed at Bilbo.

Bilbo's face burned as if the very flames of Smaug were raining down upon him.

"I will help you bear this burden, Bilbo Baggins," said Gandalf, placing his hand on Bilbo's. "As long as it is yours to bear. We will not send you alone into the dark."

"No, we will not," said Kíli, his voice tight. Bilbo could stand it no more, and he gazed back at his son. Kíli's jaw was clenched, and his hands were white around the arms of his chair. His gaze was misted over, and he was incredibly pale. But beneath the tears in his eyes, there was pride and terror and sorrow and determination, and Bilbo could see it all. See it all in those deep, brown eyes. "I'm coming with you."

Bilbo shook his head and Fili and Dís both took sharp intakes of breath, but Gandalf spoke before they could. His voice was wearier than ever before. "I think the details of who will go should receive much thought, and it need not be decided right away."

"Indeed," said Elrond, "for you cannot leave until scouts deem it to be clear. Even those of you with urgent matters in other places," he bowed his head to Dís, "for there may yet be orcs or wraiths in the land. You may rest here for a time, while things are decided."

"And we will have say in these decisions," said Dís, glaring at the ring. It looked like a storm was trapped in her fathomless blue eyes, and for the first time in years, he saw how strong her resemblance to her brother was. "Bilbo's protection will not rest solely in the hands of elves."

"No, it will not," said Aragorn, rising from his chair and bowing lower than Elrond had. "If by my life or death I can protect you, I will."

Bilbo's mouth popped open, but he could not find the words to say. He was not sure he would ever be able to find them.

"As for the rest of your companions, they can be discussed over the coming days," said Elrond. "For you will wish to confer with your kin, and none should be chosen for this quest without first volunteering. Without will and loyalty, we can have no hope."

"There is little hope as it is," muttered Boromir, but then he sighed heavily. "Yet there is loyalty and will in Gondor, and loyalty and will in me. If this is indeed the will of the council, I will aid you in your task, my Lord, unless peril calls me to my land ere journey's end."

Bilbo nodded sombrely. "Good, good. I would not want you to put me above your home, that wouldn't do at all." He heard Fíli made a scoffing noise, but he doubted many others had heard it, and he knew that it did not matter. There would time to discuss these things in the future.

Boromir bowed his head, and Bilbo sighed. The words spoken melted into formalities, and Bilbo stopped hearing them. He simply stared at the innocently glinting gold, and mumbled faint nods towards those who acknowledged him as they left.

One by one, folk trickled away, but Bilbo did not leave the porch. Nor did his family, and nor did Gandalf. At last, Elrond left them alone, with a final bow of his head.

"Are you sure of this, Bilbo?" Gandalf asked, bending down to stare Bilbo in the eye. "You do not need to do this."

"Let's – let's not have this argument," Bilbo sighed, patting Fíli's arm as the dwarf opened his mouth. "It's been a long – morning? Afternoon? I don't even know anymore."

"Very well," sighed the wizard. "For now, Bilbo, I strongly advise that you put the ring away. Somewhere safe, until we leave Rivendell."

"Bilbo," Frodo interjected, grabbing Bilbo's wrists and pulling him out of his seat, forcing him to look into his eyes. He did not look like an adult at all – he looked like the frightened little boy that Bilbo had adopted twenty years before. "Please, Bilbo, don't. Don't do it, there's no shame in passing the quest over, you have carried the ring for years. Please, don't do this, don't go-"

"I have to, my dear boy," Bilbo said, trying to put a hand on Frodo's cheek, but the young hobbit pulled away. He shook his head and backed away, two steps, three steps, and then he ran. Before Bilbo could say a word, Fíli followed, giving only a glare of betrayal to Bilbo as a means of goodbye.

"Fíli!" he called, his voice breaking. "Frodo, Fíli-"

"Let him go," Dís murmured, her eyes still on the floor. She took his hand "Let him go, Bilbo."

Guilt and shame broiled along with the fear and doubt in his stomach, and he stared desperately at Gandalf – the only one who would meet his eyes. "Tell me you understand," he begged. "You must know why I, why I..."

"We know," Kíli said hoarsely, wrapping his arms around Bilbo from behind and burying his face into the hobbit's shoulder. "We know, and Frodo and Fíli know, but – but – we don't, we can't – we can't like it, you cannot expect us, expect us to just jump for joy and… They need space."

Closing his eyes, Bilbo wrapped his arms around Kíli's and wished that he would never have to let go. He heard Dís sniff, heard Gandalf sit back down, and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter.

In the back of his mind, a cold voice was laughing.

I hope that you enjoyed this chapter, and that no typos escaped my weary eyes. Please let me know what you thought – there are only four more days of advent left, so I've nearly done it!